Creative Non-Fiction
by maritess342
Summary: Jeff Winger learned at a very early age that if he talked long enough, not only could he make anything right or wrong, but he could also protect the people he loved the most. Spoilers for 5x11 (GI Jeff), 1x08 (Home Economics), 2x21 (Paradigms of Human Memory) and 3x09 (Foosball and Nocturnal Vigilantism). Angsty! But with some eventually J/A shippiness at the end (promise!)
1. Bedtime Stories

Title: Creative Non-fiction (1/?)

Author: maritess342

Spoilers: a sideways reference to the concept of episode 5x11, GI Jeff

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, and everything belongs to the brilliant writers, crew, animators, and cast of Community.

Author's Notes: Angsty! But with some eventually J/A shippiness at the end (promise!)

* * *

The lying started the night he realized his father had walked out on them for good.

Jeffrey had heard the fights, the yelling, and the knockdown, dragged out screaming matches that had occasionally formed the night rituals at the Winger house. After supper, Mom would bathe him, dress him in pajamas, and send him to bed with a story and a kiss. Then, for what seemed like forever, there was quiet, peace and dark. Sometimes the night ended there, and Jeffrey would succumb to the warm, dark, illusory comfort of sleep between his GI Joe bed sheets. But sometimes, a 'snick' of a lock, a creak of an opening door, and the heavy 'thump-thump' of his father's unsteady boots tripping over the threshold would herald the oncoming storm of words between his mother and father.

On those nights, Jeffrey sought refuge in words, spinning stories and made-up truths into tales of heroism and valor, much like the stories he'd seen in cartoons. On those nights, he learned that if he tried hard enough, if he just made up stories and told them to himself in his room, he could ignore everything around him, he could be anyone and do anything, and he didn't have to be a scared young boy listening to his mom and dad fight on yet another night.

The fighting got worse, much worse, until one day, he heard his father's boots clomp angrily out of the house. Six months of silence followed- six months when the lock didn't turn, the door didn't open, and the boots of his father didn't cross over his house's threshold. It was after those six months of unbroken silence that Jeffrey realized the storm of words would never come again, and the sad quiet that would eventually make up his teenaged years began.

Before, he could drown the storm of his parents' angry words with secret story-telling. But now, young Jeffrey found that nothing filled the sad stillness of an empty home. The nightly ritual of supper, bath and pajamas stayed the same, but with his father gone, his mother had no heart for a story and a kiss, and young Jeffrey took notice.

Jeffrey's mother had just put him to bed when he squirmed nervously.

"Um, mom?" he asked.

"Yes, Jeffrey?" Jeffrey paused.

"What's black and white and red all over?"

Jeffrey's mom smiled. "I don't know, Jeffrey, what?"

Jeffrey snickered. "A blushing zebra."

Jeffrey quirked up his eyebrows expectantly.

Jeffrey's mother chuckled. "That's a good one, Jeffrey."

"Thanks, mom," he smiled. His mother turned to leave, and Jeffrey squirmed again. "Hey, mom?"

Jeffrey's mom turned back around.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

Jeffrey bit back a grin. "

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

Jeffrey's mother laughed lightly. "Banana who?"

Jeffrey giggled. "Knock knock."

Jeffrey's mother sat on the bed. "Who's there?" she asked. Jeffrey's mother arched her eyebrows and mirrored her son's expectant expression.

"Orange."

"Orange who?" asked his mother indulgently.

Jeffrey paused. "Orangen't you glad I didn't say banana?"

Jeffrey's mother broke out into a wide smile. "Yes, I am glad," she said. "I'm glad my son is such a good joke teller," she said as she leaned down to kiss Jeffrey on the forehead. "But I also hope my son will get to sleep soon."

"I will, I promise," agreed Jeffrey. Jeffrey's fingers fisted and twisted his GI Joe sheets into wrinkles. "Hey, mom?"

"Yes, Jeffrey?" she asked. "How come . . . how come you don't tell me stories anymore?" he asked.

Jeffrey's mother sighed, and her shoulders drooped. "That's an interesting question, Jeffrey. Why do you ask?"

As Jeffrey's small hands worried the top of his flat sheet, the faces of the GI Joe heroes disappeared and reappeared from between his palms. "Well, I mean, long time ago, dad used to tuck me in with a story. And then, well, you started tucking me in with a story. But now . . . there's no more stories."

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey, your father had so many stories, and he loved to tell them. The stories I told you, I learned from him. But since he's . . . I've told all the stories I know, and I've run out of stories, Jeffrey. I'm sorry," she said. "But I love you, a lot. That hasn't changed, and never will," she said as she put her hand over his hands on top of his blanket. "I will always be here for you, story or no story. Do you understand?" Jeffrey nodded his head slowly. Jeffrey's mom leaned down, closed her eyes, and kissed her son on his forehead. Leaning back, she ran her hand over his brow, and the tips of her fingers ruffled his hair. "Time for bed, okay, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, mom," he replied. Jeffrey's mom leaned over to his nightstand and turned out the lights. She rose from his bed, and walked the dozen steps from her son to the door of the room. Jeffrey watched as she opened the door, and he saw his mother, in shadow, bathed in the light from the hallway. She paused in the doorway. "You don't mind, Jeffrey, that I don't tell the stories anymore?"

Jeffrey's heart squeezed painfully. The stories told by his father and mother had filled his dreams with adventure. A story about a pirate would fill his sleep with hours of thrill-laden, parrot-wearing fun, and a story about camels would cause his sleeping mind to be bathed in oceans of hot desert sand. Without the stories, Jeffrey faced the long, dark, quiet night alone with only his memories of the cartoons of daytime TV to fill the void.

He was about to answer when he took in the still-drooped shoulders of his mother as they were framed by the light of the door. In that moment, Jeff screwed up all of the courage in his young heart and made his first grown up decision. "No, mom, it's okay if there are no more stories," he replied softly. As he watched his mother's head bob up and down, a small piece of something inside the upper left quadrant of his ribcage shattered into pieces.

"Good night, Jeffrey," his mother called out.

"Good night, mom," he replied. Jeffrey's mother turned and nearly closed the door, leaving a sliver of space and light in the open crack.

Jeffrey closed his eyes and wondered if a lie was the same thing as a story.


	2. Foosball and Faith

Rating: T

Spoilers: Foosball and Noctural Vigilantism (3x09) and Intro to Political Science (2x17).

Summary: Young Jeffrey learns that a little bit of love sees past the lies.

Author's Notes and Disclaimers: Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows! And thanks, to the creators of Community, for 5 wonderful seasons of Paintball, Inspector Space Time, Blankets and Pillows, D&D, Chaos Theory, a Space Bus, Halloween, and everything in between. Also, Community and its characters are not mine. Neither are the lyrics to the lovely song, Faith, by George Michael.

* * *

Jeffrey slammed closed the back door of his house, and the strength of the movement caused the window pane and curtains next to the door to shudder.

"Mom! I'm home!" he bellowed. Scanning the mud room and the kitchen, just past the doorway, Jeffrey kicked off his sneakers, pulled off his socks, and removed the wet, urine-stained jeans from his short, wiry frame. A hard tug and a quick shimmy released him from the clammy, dank denim, and with a relieved sigh, he balled up the jeans and threw them into the washing machine. A quick scoop cleared the floor of his wet, yellowed socks, and soon those too were secretly, and safely, thrown into the dark abyss of the washing machine's cavity.

"Mom? Mom!" he yelled. Jeffrey tip-toed on bare feet over the blue and white lineoleum of the kitchen floor. Hearing no response, Jeffrey gave another quick look around the kitchen and, now, living room, and with a quick inhale, began his sprint across the house to his bedroom. Once inside, a soft _snick_ of the door knob let him know that he was, finally safe-safe from the taunts of the kids, safe from the shame of his soaked pants, and safe from the queen of the foosball table, Big Cheddar.

Relief gave way to frustration, which a swift kick of his bare foot to the wall did nothing to alleviate. "I don't care, it's not a big deal," he said to himself softly. "It's just some dumb game, anyway."

_Thwump, thwump._ The sound of a paw hitting his bedroom door shook him from his frustrated self-absorption. For the first time since being jabbed in the bladder with a foosball rod, a smile crossed young Jeffrey's face, and he sprinted toward his bedroom door.

Throwing the door wide open, Jeffrey knelt and accepted the warm, wet, slobbery kisses of large chocolate labrador that bounded through the door. "Hey, Rose," he whispered softly. With his still small hands, Jeffrey stroked the short, dark brown fur of Rose's coat. As he looked in the dark, blinking eyes of dog, Jeff felt his stomach unclench, and he buried his face in the neck of his dog.

Cheerful Rose protested this action, and turned in a circle to avoid the weight of Jeffrey's head. Surprised, Jeffrey laughed, stood and ran to wrap Rose in a hug. Rose, seeing Jeffrey's laugh, gave a quick look over her shoulder and bolted playfully from the room.

For the next half hour, Jeffrey and Rose ran around the house and took turns chasing one another, and the small Winger home was filled with the delighted laughs and exuberant barking of a boy playing with his best friend. Suddnely, in the middle of their game, Rose came to an abrupt halt and perked her ears toward the door. Jeffrey's eyes followed Rose's ears, and he saw a shadow darken the curtained glass window of the front door of their home. "Shoot," he said. Still in bare feet, a t-shirt, and underwear, Jeffrey ran to the mudroom to turn on the washing machine. As Jeffrey reached for the laundry detergent, he felt his heart begin to pound. _Gotta hide it! _he thought. He grabbed the laundry detergent and hastily filled the detergent cup with the sweet-smelling liquid. In his haste, liquid splashed everywhere-in the detergent cup, on the washing machine lid, and on his shirt. In a panic, he pulled his shirt over his rat-tail styled brown hair, off of his head, and threw it also into the wash.

"WOOF! BARK! BARK!" Jeffrey heard Rose's greeting at the front door. _Oh no, she's in! _he thought as he closed his eyes in dread. _Can't get caught, can't get caught! _Jeffrey leaned his head out of the mudroom door and, seeing that his mother was still in the living room with Rose, he ran toward his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

"Jeffrey? Jeffrey? Is that you?" called out his mother.

"Um, yeah, mom. Coming!" he replied. Jeffrey quickly took out a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and threw them on. After a short glance in the mirror, to fix his rat-tail hair do, Jeffrey opened the door of his room and walked back into the kitchen.

His mother, Doreen, was starting dinner. "Hey, Jeffrey, how was your day?"

Jeffrey blinked, but didn't hesitate. "Great mom, everything was great."

"You didn't spend all afternoon watching TV, did you?" she asked. "You went to the rec center like I asked, right?"

A tight smile appeared on Jeffrey's face. "Yes, mom, I've been going to the rec center."

"Good. Thank you for doing as I asked," she said. Jeff's mother, Doreen, wore her light brown hair long and straight down her back, and as she moved between refrigerator and sink, her brown hair swung rhythmically with each of her steps. Happy for the attention, Jeff sat at the small, square, wood dinner table and basked in the glow of her presence. "Tell me about the rec center, Jeffrey. What do you do there?"

Jeffrey turned his face away from his mother. "Oh, not much. Just hang out."

"Oh?" his mother asked. She began to chop lettuce for the evening's salad. "And how are the other kids there, are they nice?"

"They're okay, mom," he said. Rose, seeking attention and food, entered the kitchen and wagged her tail.

"Rose, out of the kitchen! No dogs in the kitchen when I'm making dinner," scolded Doreen.

"It's okay mom, I'll hold her. Here, Rose, come sit with me," said Jeffrey. Rose ran over to Jeff and nuzzled her face into his small, still-soft hands.

"Okay, as long as you keep her over there." Doreen watched Jeff and Rose out of the corner of her eye. "Jeffrey, do you like going to the community center?"

Jeffrey gave a small shrug. "I don't know, mom. It's okay."

Doreen nodded and continued to chop the vegetables. "Just okay, Jeffrey?"

Jeffrey leaned down and hugged Rose. Rose squirmed in his grasp, but sat happily and thumped her tail on the blue linoleum. "Yeah, pretty much," he said.

Doreen sighed. "I'm sorry, Jeffrey. It's just for awhile, until I can get my schedule changed at work." Doreen placed her knife and the chopping board and turned to look at Jeffrey. "But when I do get it changed, is there something else you'd like to do? Your school has some programs, I think. Gymnastics? Baseball? Music?"

Jeffrey considered his options. He knew he and his mom didn't have a lot of money, so gymnastics, which required a monthly fee for access to the practice gym and all the equipment, was out. And because he had just been jabbed in the gut with a metal rod by a bully, playing a game where everybody was given a large wooden bat and told to hit things also seemed like a bad idea.

"I think I'd like music," said Jeff suddenly.

Doreen's eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline in surprise. "Really? Music?"

Jeff slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, mom. Music. I mean, if I get to pick the intrument and all."

Doreen nodded her head. "And what instrument would you choose?"

"Drums?" asked Jeff.

Doreen shook her head. "Sorry, kiddo. Our house is too small, and the neighbors are too close for drums. How about clarinet? Or flute?"

Jeffrey grimaced and shook his head.

"Okay, so not percussion, and not woodwind. How about strings? A violin? or viola? Or how about . . . " A broad grin broke slowly over Doreen's face. "Guitar? You know, like that musician you like?"

Jeffrey's jaw dropped in shock. "Oh yeah, mom. . That would be cool, wouldn't it? Could I play guitar, please?" Jeffrey jumped from his chair and began to play air guitar. "That would be totally awesome. And I could buy a leather jacket and some sun glasses." Jeffrey ran his hands through his hair to make his hair stand on end and began singing. "_Well I guess it would be nice . . ."_

Doreen shook her head. "Very cute, Jeffrey. Even though, what did I tell you? You're not old enough for those lyrics quite yet." Doreen walked over to her son and ruffled his hair with her hand. "Skip ahead, please. Last verse." Doreen sat in a chair and watched her son and dog dance around one another.

Jeffrey grinned at his mother, and then jumped out of his chair. Taking Rose's paws in his hands, Jeffrey danced, and Rose barked and wagged her tail. Jeff laughed and then began to air-guitar around his mother, silently mouthing the lyrics he wasn't yet supposed to sing, until he got to the chorus. "_Before this river becomes an ocean," _he began singing. "_Before I throw my heart back on the floor!"_ Jeffrey mimed taking something out of his chest and stomped his small feet on the blue lineoleum. "_I reconsider my foolish notion . ._ ."

Doreen laughed and joined in. "_Well I need someone to hold me_ . . ." Jeffrey came up to his mother and hugged her. Doreen laughed and hugged him back. "_But I'll wait for something more_!"

Jeffrey broke away from his mom and grinned. "_Yes I gotta have faith_!"

Doreen pointed at Jeff and sang happily, "_You gotta have faith_!"

"_I gotta have faith, faith, faith!_" Jeff sang as he finished with a hip flourish.

Doreen stood up and hugged her small son to her. "Come on, 'Jeffrey Michael', help me finish dinner, and we can talk a little about what kind of guitar we're going to get you. "I think I saw a used guitar at the thrift shop last week, when we bought you your new shirts." She released him from her grip and pointed toward the box of croutons sitting on the counter top. "Please add the croutons to the salad, Jeffrey." She watched as Jeffrey grabbed the croutons and spun in a circle, still mouthing the song. "And not the whole box, this time, please, just a few-about as many as would fit in your hand, please."

Jeffrey smiled, and sang quietly to himself. "Yes, mom." In the mud room, the washing machine dinged, indicating the completion of the wash cycle. "Oh, wait, mom, I gotta put my clothes in the dryer." Jeffrey ran to the mud room and moved his clothes to the dryer.

Doreen looked at her son with surprise. "And you did laundry too?" she called out.

"Yes, mom," he replied as he walked back to the kitchen counter and began adding croutons to the salad. "Okay, I'm done. Is it okay if I start my homework?"

"Yes, you may," said Doreen. Once more, Doreen stopped chopping the vegetables and turned. Looking at her son, Doreen's heart melted. "Hey, Jeffrey, you're a pretty special kid, you know that?" Doreen said.

Jeffrey sighed quietly. Jeffrey knew he would have to return to the rec center. To return meant that he would have to convince the kids that he didn't care about foosball or the teasing and taunts that would come his way. And after today, because any other reminder of the event would bring more teasing, he would have to give up foosball. It would be hard, and lonely, and he would have to figure out a way to make himself cool again in the eyes of the other kids. But as he stood there, with his mother talking about guitars and with Rose following him faithfully to his room, Jeff once more felt safe.

"Thanks, mom," he replied as he felt in his pocket the extra two croutons he had snuck out of the box. Waiting until his mother turned around, Jeff then pulled out the two croutons sneakily gave them to Rose. As he watched Rose eat the croutons and wag her tail happily, Jeff knew that, somehow, everything was going to be okay.


End file.
